For the Love of... Hugh.

I went and did the most un-Crazy Cat Ladylike thing known to modern man.

I adopted a dog.

Now, there's this little short-furred brown-eyed wet-nosed skinny-bloated un-neutered funky-smelling bat-eared cringing Rat Terrier with a bullet imbedded under the skin of his rear leg shaped hole in my heart!!!!

I'm so worried for my little Hughie. I'm so glad I took him to the vet and I knew- knew--! that he has heartworm. Hell-0! He's four or five years old in Texas with a coat of fur thinner than the magnetic ink on this page. He's afraid of big men with dark hair. He bit the dogcatcher when he was found on the street. Did I mention the bullet?

So... heartworm. Vet. Oh, yeah.

He came up positive for heartworm and hookworm. He has severe gingivitis. And then there's this other thing... this horrible thing that I'm trying so hard to understand. He's in the hospital right now and I just signed a month's worth of income away that I don't have and he's in so much pain...

We thought it was just a little bladder infection. The vet was concerned that there's also free fluid in his abdomen... and it's bloody. Really, a lot of blood. It's really scary to see a scrappy little bit of funny-smelling "Will you love me?" dripping blood on your floor. From a wound you can't see.

We're not sure why he has blood in his abdomen. It could be from the heartworm. From the hookworm. From an actual bladder infection. From a traumatic injury. Did I mention the bullet????

He's all scarred up too... been knocked around a good bit. He knows when he's in trouble, he wet on the floor the other day and the second I saw it he was so scared, cowering and shaking like he expected me to hurt him. I was too upset about his reaction to even mention the mess. I just told him I loved him and cleaned it up when he wasn't looking. That's when I saw the first indication of blood.

Now I have a really bad premonition.

It makes so much sense... There's a dog that's friendly enough to tolerate around the house as long as he doesn't get in Daddy's way, then there's this problem all the sudden where he can't hold it in the house. Dad gets mad, hauls off and kickes him in the gut once or twice (there's scarring on his side and we can feel scars on his abdominal muscle wall), and then kicks him out of the house. He all ready has heartworm by this time and probably hookworm because anyone who kicks a dog would never think to take one to a vet. Prove me wrong on that. I dare you. Then he spends a few weeks on the street, with whatever caused the urniary tract problem running rampant in his gut. He's lucky enough to get picked up by animal control and thank the gods, he's not killed the moment he bites the dogcatcher (who probably scared the living hell out of him and my last dollar says he's tall and has dark hair). Then he spends a few weeks in a kennel with who knows what diseases running around and no-one will adopt him because every time a man walks into the kennel, "Hugo" rushes the gate barking frantically.

Ok, ow ow ow my neck hurts...

By the time I show up, Hugh has a reputation with the ladies. The animal control officer who takes care of him is female, and she never had to leash him when she let him out of his kennel. He would hang out in the office with her. He proved to her that he could bond, that he's a good dog, that he's house trained.

He will sit and shake and he knows that a dog-bed is where he's supposed to be when someone says, "Go lay down." He burrows under the covers if you let him up on the bed and he snores a little. He's the perfect little foot-warmer. He warmed my heart right up too. He also guarantees that no matter what, I take a minimum of two brisk twenty-minute walks every day.

He's going to be in the ICU at the Vet's for at least three days. I've had him for all of... two weeks? Maybe a day or two more? And I'm crying because if I lose this little dog I don't think I'll ever be whole again. He answers that question my heart is always asking..."Am I everything that I need to be? Am I... enough?"

Hugh said, "Yes, you're my everything. I'll be yours, too." He says it in a way that my husband can't, that my daughter isn't capable of. He says it in a way that brooks no argument. He says it because it just is.